


if you forgive me all this, if i forgive you all that

by flyingthesky



Series: Kinktober 2019 [10]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Kinktober 2019, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2021-01-03 00:04:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21170111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flyingthesky/pseuds/flyingthesky
Summary: Potter looks like . . . well, himself. There’s something about the way Potter holds himself, like he’s approachable but also wary, that’s always made Dracowant. The want used to be a misplaced need to tear Potter down, but now it’s very much a different want.“Malfoy,” Potter says, lips quirking up. “You actually came.”





	if you forgive me all this, if i forgive you all that

It’s funny, really.

If you had told Draco when they were all back at Hogwarts that his life would be like this, how probably would have laughed it off. At the time, the sheer idea of going on a date with Potter would have been absurd, but looking back on it he can see why Pansy turned to Blaise and handed him a galleon when he said he had a date with Potter. Smoothing his hands down the front of the suit he _definitely_ did not spend an hour choosing from his closet, Draco steels himself. This is likely to be a disaster.

Throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fire, Draco emerges in a corner of Diagon Alley that he rarely visits. It’s mostly restaurants and the Malfoys were too pureblood to eat anywhere they might have to mingle with people below them. Now, there’s nothing keeping him away except for the fact that he doesn’t leave the house much except to go to work at St. Mungo’s.

Potter looks like . . . well, himself. There’s something about the way Potter holds himself, like he’s approachable but also wary, that’s always made Draco _want_. The want used to be a misplaced need to tear Potter down, but now it’s very much a different want.

“Malfoy,” Potter says, lips quirking up. “You actually came.”

“I’m a man of my word,” Malfoy says simply. “Shall we?”

“After you.” Potter pulls open the door of the restaurant, and it’s almost charming. “Healers first.”

Draco chooses not to say anything to Potter about the comment. Instead, he heads into the restaurant and gives his name to the maître d. Potter trails behind him, and if anyone notices that The Boy Who Lived is in their midst, they’re at least polite enough not to mention it. They’re quickly seated and given a rundown of the day’s specials and it’s . . . nice? Draco doesn’t know how to quantify how _normal_ this feels, which seems strange but he thought there would maybe be something to a date with the most famous celebrity in the Wizarding World.

Instead, it’s just them. They’re not the same people they were when they attended school together, but their dynamic isn’t that different and the whole affair feels so much more comfortable than Draco thinks he was expecting. It’s why, after they’ve drunk maybe a little too much and eaten well, Draco says yes when Potter invites him to his house.

The place is old, and Draco almost asks who it belongs to when he realizes: it’s the old Black family home. They pass portraits of the Black family on the way to the bedroom, all of whom are clearly curious about why there’s a _Malfoy_ in the house. Draco ignores them. He’s lived with gossiping portraits all his life, he knows better than to give them attention.

“Is this too fast?” It seems a little late to ask that, but Potter’s asking it all the same. “We’ve only—”

Instead of letting Potter finish, Draco presses him to the door and kisses him. Potter is a surprisingly decent kisser, which Draco wouldn’t have guessed.

“It’s been fifteen years,” Draco says as his fingers work at the button of Potter’s trousers. “Fast is relative, I think.”

“There’s a bed,” Potter says instead of responding. He stills Draco’s hands, catching them in his own and leading them toward it. “Come on. If we’re doing this, we might as well do it right.”

The grin that’s on Potter’s face is lopsided and Draco finds it unspeakably attractive. Despite what he’d said, it feels both too fast and the only natural conclusion to everything they’ve ever been that Potter—no, _Harry_—would be leading him toward a bed and whisking their clothes away on an exhale. Draco is fine with that, taking the opportunity to kiss his way down Harry’s body until he’s exactly where he’s wanted to be since he was self-aware enough to realize that he didn’t actually _hate_ Harry. Taking the head of Harry’s cock into his mouth, Draco spares a thought for the younger version of him who would not belive this is happening, currently, but is secretly pleased that it is.

Harry’s fingers find their way into Draco’s hair, hesitant and gentle. Draco settles one of his hands at the base of his cock and pulls back enough to speak.

“I’m not made of glass, you know.” It’s not quite what he wants to say, but he’s never been in the habit of saying exactly what e mens and it’s hard to break the habit now. “You don’t have to be gentle.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath from Harry and when Draco’s takes Harry’s cock back into his mouth, he’s rewarded with Harry guiding his head. It’s still too gentle for his liking, but it’s enough, and Draco lets Harry do as he pleases. When he’d imagined this—not that he would ever let anyone know he had—Harry had been much bossier. Something about the way Harry effortlessly did whatever suited seemed to translate into him also _taking_ whatever he wanted. In this moment, however, Draco sees how he got it wong.

Even though Harry’s always had the makings of a Slytherin, he isn’t one. He’s never _been_ one and it should have been obvious to Draco that a _Gryffindor_ would never be s bold as to simply take what they wanted and ask questions later. They’ll have to work on that, Draco supposes. It’s a fixable thing, and Draco thins that once they’re more comfortable with each other it’ll be easier to get what he wants from Harry.

“Draco,” Harry says. It’s soft, almost reverent, and Draco likes that, despite himself. “_Draco_.”

Draco doesn’t pause in what he’s doing, instead slowly moving his hand away and relaxing his throat until he can sink at the way down. Harry’s fingers tighten in his hair, and the sound he makes is the best thing that Draco’s ever heard. He pulls back before Harry’s hips start to stutter, out of breath, and looks up at Harry. There’s so many things he wants to say but can’t form the words for, so instead when Harry pulls him up using the hand in his hair, Draco goes.

“I hate how hot you are,” Harry says. Then he kisses Draco, his other hand somehow managing to find Draco’s cock and jerking him off. “You’ve always been something else.”

“Speak for yourself, Potter.” Draco manages to bring his brain back online enough to return the favor, fingers wrapping around Harry’s cock and twisting on the upstroke. “I could say the same for you.”

For a moment, Draco thinks that Harry might argue, but instead he puls on Draco’s hair, tipping his head back so he can suck a bruise high enough on Draco’s neck that there’s no way he’ll be able to hide it. Draco shivers, rhythm faltering, and _that’s_ what he wanted from Harry. That’s the aggressiveness he always pictured, when he imagined this scenario.

“Harry,” Draco says. “_Harry_.”

“Say it again.” Harry’s still pulling, the hand he has around Draco’s cock quickening. “I like hearing you say my name.”

“Harry, fuck. Please, I—” Draco moans, unsure of how to complete that sentence. It’s hard to think around Harry. It always has been. “_Please_.”

Harry grins at him, imperfect and real, before dipping his head down to work on the mark he’s made on Draco’s neck. His hand never slows, and all Draco can think is that Harry is impossibly, annoyingly talented. His breathing stutters, and when he comes it’s a surprise because he’s so overwhelmed that he can’t keep track of anything.

It takes a moment for Draco to become fully aware again. Harry’s petting his hair and Draco swallows. The whole thing is almost too domestic, but oh how he _wants_. More than anything, Draco thinks that he could wake up to this every morning for the rest of his life and it would still take him by surprise every day.

“It’s late,” Harry says, instead of anything Draco expects. “You should stay the night.”

“I don’t have—”

“We’re wizards, Draco. If you don’t want to stay the night, you can just say so.”

“It’s not that,” Draco admts. He pauses, unable to convey the weight of what he’s feeling for a moment. “If I stay, I’m not sure I’ll ever leave.”

“So don’t.”

Harry says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and it’s the kind of confidence that Draco found infuriating when they were younger. Now, though, it’s comforting. Breathing out, Draco settles against Harry’s chest.

“Okay,” he says. “I won’t.”

**Author's Note:**

> harry: are we going too fast  
also harry: hey draco do you wanna get married tomorrow


End file.
